


Hell of a Way

by Elfbert



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Nanny John Verse, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: Tie in with the Nanny John blogs, and will make very slightly more sense if you read them, but it's not essential.
https://interestingmurders.blogspot.co.uk/2016/12/night-is-falling-and-you-just-cant-see.html?showComment=1482743419013#c2144105073675068300
Basically, Johnstrade, where John is the 'Nanny' to Sherlock and Mycroft (who is now at Univeristy, and does not require a Nanny at all.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's Lestrade's turn to work on Christmas Day again. Festive cheer seems a very long way away.

The clock ticked loudly on the mantlepiece. The sound cutting through the silence with jarring regularity.

There was a slight rustle of clothing, and Lestrade watched as the man in front of him reached for and grasped his wife’s hands, which were wrapped in the fabric of her skirt.

“I…can we…see him?” The woman asked. Voice small, jaw clenched between words.

Lestrade recognised the feeling. Sometimes you just knew that if you opened your mouth for anything but the briefest of words then the grief would just pour out.

“Of course,” he assured. “Whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush.”

The man nodded, and kept nodding, as if he’d forgotten to stop.

“Is there anyone else you’d like me to tell? Anyone who could be here with you?”

The silence stretched, although now there was the faint sounds of the kettle boiling, as his Sergeant made the obligatory cup of tea in the kitchen. A kitchen which had potatoes half-peeled. A large turkey ready to go into the oven.

He’d already clocked the dining table, set for eight. He wondered if one of those place settings was for the young man in the mortuary.

“Yes. Please. Our daughter, she’s…she was coming here. And the kids. Could you tell her…could you tell her without letting the children know? Sorry, I know it’s…”

“It’s fine,” Lestrade reassured. “I’ll be discreet. Do you have her address?”

 

When he finally stood to leave he nodded to the Family Liaison Officer who had arrived. He knew Donovan had already filled the officer in on the circumstances.

“They were…they were coming here. For lunch,” the woman looked around, panicked. “What are…”

“Please,” Lestrade held out his hands. “Don’t worry. We can arrange things. I can get an officer to give the kids and their dad a lift somewhere, if there’s someone on his side of the family? And I can get some turkey and things, so they won’t go hungry. Don’t you worry about anything.”

Silence fell again, and the jolly flashing fairy lights wrapped around the tree and draped over the fireplace seemed completely at odds with the situation.

“You’ve been very kind,” the man said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lestrade took the offered hand and shook it. “Now David’s going to stay here with you. Please, just ask him anything. From wanting something to eat, to getting in touch with another relative, or being in contact with me. Okay?”

And it was that which finally sent the woman over the edge, tears rolling down her face, which immediately also broke the man’s resolve, and they stood, surrounded by bright shimmering tinsel, in each other’s arms.

Lestrade silently nodded to the sergeant, and they stepped into the hallway. “Will you stay? I think they’ll realise there’s more people to tell.”

She nodded. “You okay doing this on your own?”

Lestrade half-shrugged, but nodded. “I’ll be back. Probably with the daughter.”

Donovan gave his arm a squeeze.

 

Lestrade sat in the car for a moment, then pulled his phone from his pocket. It had been set to silent, obviously, whilst he was in the house.

He allowed himself a small smile as he read a text from John.

‘Sherlock’s cheese things are actually really nice. Hope you’re having a good day. Call me when you’re free. Love you.’

He hit ‘reply’ and typed out. ‘Good. Saved any for me? I’ll be busy for a little while yet. Miss you. Love you.’

Then he typed the postcode he’d been given into his phone, and let the voice guide him through the streets. There were a few cabs around, some people walking along streets, often carrying bulging bags of brightly wrapped presents. The odd child, wobbling on a new bike or new roller skates. Otherwise it was quiet, the world seeming to still be a little sleepy. No red buses rumbling along the roads, few people on the move.

He pulled up in a quiet residential street. Some of the houses were hung with Christmas lights, most had a Christmas tree visible through the window.

He double checked the address and then opened the garden gate of one of the houses. He held onto his warrant card in his pocket and rang the doorbell.

There were voices, and the sound of running feet. A boy opened the door, looking up at him.

“Hello,” he smiled. “Is your Mum in?”

The boy continued to stare. “Are you here for Christmas?” he asked.

“Not…exactly. I do need to speak to your Mum though.”

A woman appeared in the hallway. “Mitchell! What are you doing?” She grabbed the child and then looked Lestrade up and down. “Go…go on and play with your toys,” she said.

Lestrade knew from the look on her face that the worst was already going through her mind.

“Mrs Anna Davidson? I’m afraid your parents sent me, with some bad news.”

Her hand came up to cover her mouth.

“I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he flashed his warrant card at her. “Usually I’d ask to come inside, but with the children…I’m very sorry to tell you that your brother, Michael, died this morning.”

“Michael…no…”

“Your parents asked if I’d come to tell you. And I know you were heading over there with the kids, so if there’s anything I can do to help, I will. Perhaps there’s somewhere else they could spend the day?”

“Oh, yes, yes…” The tears which had been welling in her eyes were blinked away as she looked around to where the noise of kids playing was filtering through from the front room. “How…how did it happen?” She asked.

“He was found in the canal. I’m afraid we don’t yet know how he came to be there. We are investigating further. At the moment it doesn’t seem as if anyone else was involved, but we’re still working on it.”

“The canal? Oh God…” The tears brimmed in her eyes again.

 

Once Lestrade had delivered Anna to her parents, all of them collapsing in tears as soon as they were together, and then been to break the news to the dead man’s grandmother, and also deliver her to the family, he finally texted John.

‘Be back at the office in about 30 mins.’

 

They drove back to the Yard in silence, both officers lost in their thoughts. When Lestrade parked up he rubbed his hands over his face.

“Take half an hour,” he said to the sergeant. “Grab yourself whatever the canteen have. Call your family, huh?”

She smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Sir.”

Lestrade headed for the entrance, and couldn’t help smile a touch as he saw John’s bike parked next to his own.

He walked briskly to the lift, and through the largely deserted building, to reach his own small office.

“Hey doc,” he said softly, as he walked up behind John, who was standing and looking out of the window. 

“Hi detective,” John smiled back. “Bought you some snacks. Mycroft did a brilliant job.”

“Mmm, come here,” Lestrade wrapped John in his arms, hearing the leather jacket creak as he squeezed.

“Bad morning?” John said, after a long moment of silence.

“Worse for the people I had to go and see,” Lestrade sighed.

“Murder?” John finally released him and moved to the desk, opening a few foil-wrapped packages.

“Who knows? Suicide, my first guess. But…could’ve been an accident. Nothing missing, phone, money, all in his pockets. Face down in the canal.”

John hissed. “Big family?”

“Enough to support each other. No kids, luckily. Well, not his, anyway. Niece and nephew. They went to Granny and Grandad on the other side, with their dad.”

“Still, not easy.”

“Nope.” Lestrade sat down, and rubbed his face again. “Anyway, enough work, tell me about your morning.”

He ate, as John filled him in on the various antics of the boys, Mrs Hudson and Mrs Holmes, including brutal games of Boggle, and most people losing the shirt off their back as Mycroft and his mother cleaned up at cards.

“Sherlock is desperate for a drone, you know.”

“I do. He isn’t getting one. No good would come of it.”

“I know, I know. I just hope his Mum doesn’t cave and get him one.

“I used to be content with one of those aeroplanes made of foam, that you slid the wings onto. Remember those?” Lestrade smiled. “Get smashed up the second day you had them?”

“I do. I don’t think it would cut it.”

“And I assume the tangerine and nuts in his stocking met their usual fate?”

“Degus got the nuts, tangerine went under the microscope, actually.”

“A brave and noble citrus fruit, giving it’s life for the furthering of science, or something.” Lestrade put aside the now-empty foil and pulled the next bit toward himself. “Christmas pud? You’re too good for me.”

“There was Yule Log, which Sherlock has used to drive himself a step closer to diabetes. So the pudding was going a bit spare.”

 

There was a noise outside in the main office, and Lestrade saw his sergeant returning to duty.

He sighed. “Well, this was all brilliant. As was seeing you. But…work calls.”

“Walk me out?” John asked.

 

Given how quiet it was, Lestrade allowed himself to hold John’s hand as they strolled down the corridor and waited for the lift.

“I’ll try to be home on time,” he said. “No promises, though.”

“It’s fine. I know you’ll try. We’ll try to keep leftovers for you. Once they survive tea, dinner, supper, evening snack…whatever other meals Sherlock can invent.”

Lestrade laughed. “I have faith in you.”

 

They held each other tight, before John climbed onto the bike, pulling his helmet on.

“See you later. Love you.” John called, voice muffled.

“Have a fun afternoon. Love you too.”

Lestrade watched as the bike smoothly pulled away, then turned back to the office.

He sat at his desk, pulling the package of Christmas pudding back toward him, and opening his email, which contained an attachment of all the photographs of the body they had pulled from the canal. He sighed, zoomed in, and started looking for any clues.

“Bought you a few sweets up,” his sergeant said, coming into his office and depositing a handful of Roses on his desk.

“Thanks,” he smiled.

She glanced at his screen, realising what he was doing, and her face fell a little.

“Hell of a way to spend Christmas, isn’t it?” He asked.


End file.
